


Beyond What is Right (to What is Wrong)

by itsevanffs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Harry "Boy" Potter If You Get My Drift, I Mean You Can't Blame Me the Kid's Got PTSD to Kingdom Come, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Seriously He Thinks He's Called Boy, Not Canon Compliant, Not Very Sane Harry, Obscurial Harry Potter, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Tags May Change, Too much hurt not enough comfort, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/itsevanffs
Summary: "Swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!" Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Dursleys succeeded.Harry is an Obscurial who's been doing his best to hide from the Wizarding World. With virtually no grasp on his magical abilities, he leaves destruction in his wake. A newly resurrected Voldemort investigates.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1284
Collections: Corona Challenge, Fave_Fanfics_Rereads





	1. The Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [elements](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elements/pseuds/elements) in the [CoronaChallenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!" Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Dursleys succeeded.
> 
> Harry is an Obscurial who's been doing his best to hide from the Wizarding World. With virtually no grasp on his magical abilities, he leaves destruction in his wake. A newly resurrected Voldemort investigates.

Harry Potter was gone.

Albus had no idea where he was. The house on Privet Drive was destroyed, a smouldering ruin, rubble lying as far as three blocks over, the blood wards ceasing with the Dursley's lives. They said it was an explosion, a gas leak, or something. In truth, they had no idea, coming back puzzled after the check. The pipes were indeed completely ruined, but it appeared the explosion originated under the stairs.

An explosion. A magical one, at that. When Albus had shown up to the scene, pretending to be a morbidly intrigued Muggle, he recognised the magical residue scattered over the whole block.

His memory flashed back. Gellert, and all his horrible experiments on those poor children, who had been suppressed, forbidden of doing magic, and if they did, punished for it. Obscurials.

Albus lay his head in his hands. He hoped, he _prayed_ he was wrong.

* * *

Somewhere in London, a little boy was running away, soot all over his body. His skin was cracked, blood seeping from the wounds, and his spectacles were broken, his unruly hair peeking through the holes in the lenses. Despite this, nobody seemed to notice him, slipping past crowds and policemen and ticket stands for the Tube.

He didn't stop running, dodging through the thick crowd inside until he'd arrived at the last line- Terminal Three, or something or other. He dashed up the stairs, looking behind him, sincerely Wishing nobody would see him, notice him, talk to him.

His small bare feet left tiny cracks in the tiled floor as he raced through the large halls, dodging past so many people, why were there so many people? His breath came harshly but he didn't stop, taking no notice of flickering screens and the stuttering of the speaker system, nor the shuttering of cameras. He took no notice of people frowning at each other and at the equipment, didn't listen to people muttering ' _power outage?_ ', kept pumping his too-skinny legs though the pain until he ducked into a tunnel leading off a large hall.

He bounded down the tunnel, unaware of how the metal floor vibrated with energy below his feet, catching the raw power flowing out of him and into the surroundings.

He arrived in a small, round space with seats on either side and a narrow path in the middle. The boy moved through it, anxious at it being so open for having so many hiding places. One wrong movement and anyone could see him if he hid in this space. When he looked further into the space he saw a door standing open and nobody near it, the silver-coloured lock glinting at him. A noise behind him, laughing kindly at something another said, made him jump and run to the door, a panicked noise escaping his throat. He dashed inside and turned the lock with shaking fingers, distressed at its heaviness but relieved when it fell into place with a soft thunk. He listened for a minute, maybe more, and when no footsteps could be heard, he sank to his knees, closing his eyes to stop the tears escaping.

He dashed inside and turned the lock with shaking fingers, distressed at its heaviness but relieved when it fell into place with a soft thunk. He listened for a minute, maybe more, and when no footsteps could be heard, he sank to his knees, closing his eyes to stop the tears escaping.

His breathing was still harsh, coming and going far too fast, so the boy turned around and rested his head back against the door, vivid emerald eyes searching the small space for something, anything to focus on. The room was a lavatory, bigger than the boy's living space but sterile in a way that felt constricting. There was no small window at the top to let air in, just a steel vent that clattered gently every few seconds, not enough to make the boy flinch, but enough to make his eyes dart in its direction every time it made a noise.

The toilet seat was pushed up against the lid and a button in the wall displayed a sign in red the boy couldn't read, but assumed it was the lever for flushing. The counter his toes touched was high, probably up to the boy's shoulders, but he wasn't strong or willing enough to test it, his knees shaking even while his legs rested on the floor. He could glimpse the faucet and the upper side of a mirror from his position, eyes tracing the details he could see in its reflection. Then at once the cabin shook and came into motion.

The boy started breathing rather heavily again, but tried his best to count the things he could see- _two counters, one toilet roll, one button, four screws in the toilet seat_ -to regulate it. He hadn't known the room would start moving! What if he was being kidnapped by the strange men and women that stared at him in the street? Aunt had told him-

The boy stopped short. Aunt wasn't there anymore. He had seen her, had recognised her dress, lying half under a collapsed rock. He had seen the phantoms of flames licking at the wooden beams and the smouldering wallpaper. He knew, inside him, instinctively, that she was dead, and he knew, too, that he would get in a lot of trouble because of it. So he ran.

Now he was here, locked into a lavatory on a moving thing- the boy squeaked as the sensation of it speeding up washed over him -and unable to do anything about it. If he was lucky, they would take him far, far away; away from the house, away from his cupboard, away from his Family. And as the tears started rolling down his face, he felt like he had been lifted off the ground, like those air-plane things Cousin always played with.

His ears started hurting shortly after, but the boy was used to pain and didn't mind it, instead letting the tears fall free down his face like he would in the dead of night, in his cupboard, when there was nobody to hear him over Uncle's loud snoring. Exhausted, he let his eyes fall shut, and slowly slipped into a quiet slumber, neglecting the spit and snot on his lips and the salt on his cheeks. It was the most peaceful sleep he'd had since he could remember.


	2. The Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens. wait is that even applicable

The boy was sharply awoken by a large shocking motion rocking through him, his breath catching in his chest, panic building in his core. The lights flickered and crackled above him as he tried to gain his bearings. When he did, he propped himself into a corner, trying to control his breathing.

Was this a good idea? Why had he run away? He had no way to get food or water, had nowhere to sleep. Or if he’d been kidnapped, or something- the boy didn’t know.

“ _ Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Podgoritsa Airport _ ,” a voice spoke from nowhere. “ _ The local time is nine-forty PM. Please stay seated until the seatbelt signs are off. Use caution when opening overhead bins, as items may have shifted during the flight. Thank you. _ ” There was a click and the voice stopped. The boy lowered his arms from where they were shielding his head and looked up with scared eyes, inspecting the ceiling. They were still moving, he noticed, and he stood up slowly.

Then, slowly, they rolled to a halt, and the boy steadied himself against the wall, placing his soot-covered hand against the door, listening closely. People murmured, and there were a lot of clicks. A laughing voice. The boy Wished he wouldn't be seen and slowly unlocked the door, opening it a crack and peering through with wide eyes. People were milling about, grabbing things from the spaces above them, not paying attention to him.

"Cabin crew, doors open," came softly from above, and the boy felt a blast of warm air pass him. A few people looked up expectantly and started moving towards the new exit. The boy gasped and quickly darted out of the toilet, toward the opening. There! Stairs! He ran down them and away from the approaching mass.

He was free, he realised as he slowed down, standing on a strip of grass between two long and wide roads, wide green eyes surveying his surroundings. The sun was clearly low in the sky, hidden behind a canvas of deep blue, and the boy didn’t have to be ‘the boy’ anymore.

What had the teacher called him? Harry?

“Harry,” the boy tested, and he liked the sound of it, of a name all for himself.  _ Harry  _ smiled, intense green eyes flicking towards the building and the thing that had previously moved, and spread out his arms to the sky, ignoring the soot all over them, ignoring the near-invisible dark gray smoke whirling like a wind around his small body.

“ _ Hey _ !” a voice called. Harry’s head snapped over to the man, his pupils dilating in fear. A man in a bright yellow vest was waving his arms at him, approaching him. A cold feeling swept over Harry as he began to panic. The man shouted something else that he couldn't understand, angrily, and Harry turned and started running.

The man followed him, footsteps loud compared to the quiet pitter patter of Harry's bare feet, but it was soon overshadowed by the roar of something large and the man yelled, almost fearful, and Harry looked to the side, and a monster made of metal with terrifying wings was approaching him, towering over him-

Harry slammed down on a sand path and promptly vomited on the ground. The smoke around him was thicker now, scratching deeply into the earth beside him, and Harry looked up at a cry coming from someone not far away. He was somewhere else. It was… it was like the rooftop. Harry gathered himself up, vaguely aware of the dark smoke lashing out around him, wiping the bile off his lips. He'd not eaten anything in days.

He turned and stumbled away from the woman, who was asking things in a language Harry could not understand, and stumbled toward the trees- more familiar territory. There, he wandered until he found a cave- it was deep enough to get lost in, dark enough to sleep, warm enough to let him relax. There, he curled up into a small ball, the smoke warming the air with its energy, and fell asleep.

* * *

Voldemort opened his eyes, vision focusing on the ceiling above him. He took a breath, patiently exploring the rise and fall of his chest. A body. He lifted his hand, and oh. What a strange sensation. The body felt confining and grounding at the same time, but the most prominent sensation was the cold relief that came with the absence of pain.

He rolled over and got his hands under him, pushing himself up. He was weak- but he hadn't expected otherwise. His arms shook with his own weight, sickly white.

He was unclothed, and his hand snapped out when he realised this, wandlessly summoning a robe. He shrugged it around his shoulders and stood on unsteady legs.

There was a mirror in the corner of the room -his room, he noticed absently- and he moved over to it, not taking shame in the fact that his robe was barely half closed and that Voldemort stumbled a few times in getting to it.

His eyes widened minutely in shock.

He had imagined a more gruesome body, it being made of magic, but the ritual gave him a surprisingly reasonable appearance. The most striking thing was the red eyes; a brilliant colour, maybe crimson, blood-like in the right light. When Voldemort lifted a hand to trace his face, he caught a shimmering in the mirror. He inspected his arm.

It was covered in hundreds,  _ thousands _ of microscopic, near-transparent scales- smooth to the touch, he realised after touching them, albeit a little dry, like a snake.

His hair was still there, any previous hair loss he’d begun to experience after the rituals reversed- the perks of using the largest part of his soul: the dairy. Speaking of it… Voldemort turned around and moved towards the nightstand, where the book lay, innocently, unharmed. Voldemort’s brow furrowed, and he mindlessly summoned a quill.

He braced himself against the sudden rush of power through him. A surprised breath escaped him, not having expected the onslaught of feeling. His fingertips tingled, and the quill lay on the ground, crushed to an almost powder-like state.

Voldemort let out a controlled breath through pursed lips. He’d have to do something about that; he hadn’t realised he’d started to lose control of his magic output somewhere down the line. Unwilling to try that little stunt again, he snapped his fingers.

A house elf showed up, shaking so hard it rattled.

“A quill,” he ordered it softly, voice hoarse from disuse. It nodded, its ears wiggling pathetically. It popped away and was back within the moment, quill in hand. Voldemort held out a hand and the thing dropped the quill in his hand.

He waved a hand to dismiss it and opened the dairy, writing in almost shaky script;

‘ _ We are still intact, then?’ _

A moment passed before the ink was absorbed and words formed.

_ Drained of energy, but yes. _

Voldemort sighed in relief. He knew how the ritual worked, but he was also aware of the risk of it failing. Namely the spectre breaking free before it could be contained, and therefore failing the remaking of the horcrux. Luckily that had not been the case.

However, Voldemort wondered, what had become of the child?


	3. The God

Gjelaj was a pretty little village situated snugly in Teth, where rumours of a godly child covered in soot appearing in the middle of the street had carried to the most important people in Magical Albania- people Lucius had been in contact with. After twenty years of being a wraith, Voldemort had been exceedingly happy to know his little banisher had disappeared off the face of the earth not long after the child’s seventh birthday. To know he was hiding somewhere in Albania, ridiculously close to the origin of one of his horcruxes… Well, Voldemort couldn’t be blamed for his intrigue.

He walked down the stone paths, clad in a fancy suit that clearly marked him as an outsider among all the peasants. Fine by him; he had no desire to blend in this time. They were clearly preparing for a festival of sorts; a weekly occurrence, if his sources were to be believed, but for what…

He tapped a young woman on the shoulder with his gloved hand and smiled placatingly at her, hoping she would overlook his red eyes. Ritual backlash was something one could not cover up or repair, sadly- not that he minded, but it made interactions with muggles rather challenging. She merely widened her eyes slightly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m from out of town- visiting a friend of mine, he lives around here.” A lie- well, maybe not. Although Voldemort idly thought the boy would not really refer to him as a _friend_ , if anything. “I was simply wondering -stunning eyes you have, by the way, dear- what all the festivities are for. Are you preparing for a festival..?’

The woman blushed a rather unflattering shade and nodded- “No,” she said, which conflicted with her gesture until Voldemort remembered the reversed nodding and shaking the head thing that happened in Albania -who knew where it had come from- “It is the preparation for sacrifices to be given to the local god, which will occur when the sun sets.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with dirty fingers. “You are welcome to stay and watch; we have many visitors who come simply for _zot i kaosit_. Sometimes we see him; he is a rather beautiful sight.”

“Not as beautiful as you, I’d think,” Voldemort purred, keeping up his flattery.

The woman laughed softly, nodded again. “You will see.”

The sun was still high up in the sky, but winter was approaching, so it did not take long for the sun to set. Meanwhile, he entertained the woman, trying to pry information out of her. He’d gathered that the boy had unnaturally green eyes; ones that glowed brightly at night. He was dressed in the furs and jewels the people gifted to him, and took the food they offered on all occasions, and that at first, the boy had likely used accidental magic to rain chaos down on the village as he starved until they started ‘offering’ him food.

“My mother saw him,” she told him, looking over her shoulder as she cooked. Voldemort sat politely at the table, his head resting on his hand, trying very hard not to look bored. He perked up a little, blood-red eyes flicking up to hers. “When _zot i kaosit_ first arrived, I mean.” She turned back to her cooking. “She tried to call out to him, thinking he was just a boy, but she noticed black smoke pouring out of his body, even in the darkness; he just stood up and walked away, into the forest. She said his eyes were green like the northern lights she had seen when she went to the North, many years ago.

“She tried to follow him but lost him in the trees; she did not know the forest well enough to keep looking in the night. She came back- she was around my age, then -and went to sleep. In the morning she found marks in the ground that should not have been able to be formed in the stone, and remembered the boy. She thought she had been dreaming. She told the elders, who mocked her at first. Then the strange things started happening. Dark, dark skies in mid-summer, harsh storms. It was frightening, even from just hearing the stories. I was raised on the tradition of giving _zot i kaosit_ a sacrifice every week; generally we have good luck if we can afford to give things.”

The woman tensed. She looked back over her shoulder

“There have been few who went into those woods meaning to kill him. They either came back without memories of all their life, or died in the most gruesome ways, deposited on the street that runs in front of the woods.” She looked at him, brown eyes more intense than Voldemort could ever imagine them to be. “I do not know your name, stranger, but I like you, for now.” She lifted her chin. “Consider this a warning.”

Voldemort tilted his head contemplatively when she had turned back to her cooking. He would have killed people for less than that; but it was imperative he was still invited for the main event.

Slowly, the sun set through the window. When the sky was a blue husk, just barely touching on navy, when the woman finished cooking.

“My brother will bring the offers to the elders, who will put them in the woods. We can watch, but do little more.”

Voldemort nodded. He followed her out, bowed his head at her brother, and stood back as the lights were extinguished, the night falling to a deeper blue hue. An elder set the offers down between the trees, and there;

The jingle of armbands and necklaces and many rings, and jewels hanging off the hips of…

It was the most beautiful creature Voldemort had ever encountered. Its eyes were brighter than an Avada Kedavra, little suns in their own right. Its hair seemed to swallow the light around it, falling in waves down the barely-visible furs adorning its toned body. Voldemort thanked the heavens for the increased visions the ritual had granted his new body, or he would not be able to witness the utter beauty that was _zot i kaosit_ , that was Harry Potter.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced at the woman, who gasped, expression going from playful- he read her mind, she’d been about to ask if he still thought she was more beautiful -to frightened. His red eyes reflected in hers- they were glowing with power.

Voldemort peeled her hand off, and moved through the crowd. The creature turned away in slow motion, offers in hand, heeding not the protesting shouts of the elders- but then again, neither did Voldemort. Instead, the latter turned his red eyes on the crowd, which gasped- a cry of ‘ _zoti i rendit_!’ cutting through the deadly silence of night.

Then Voldemort turned away again, and he felt like he was swimming in unknown waters, following the simple taste of that sheer power. He was drunk on it, eyes shining so bright he could see it reflected on the trees.

There was a cave, deep in the trees, with a gaping jaw, and Voldemort followed the beauty inside, unbothered by the deep cold. Its hair flowed behind it, furs curling over its skin as it moved.

They reached the back of the cave, where it was warmer. Small sparks floated around the air, lighting small spots below them. There, in this magical space, _zot i kaosit_ turned around, turned death star eyes on him, brandishing a dagger from its hip.

“ _Who are you?_ ”


	4. The Past

“Voldemort,” Voldemort told the child honestly.

“ _ Sa? _ ” It asked, tilting its head curiously.

“Voldemort. That’s my name.” Voldemort took a step forward. The child skittered backward, raising its dagger.

“How did you find me?” Its english was broken, heavily slurred by lack of outside contact, almost its own language. Voldemort found it intriguing.

“I asked.”

* * *

Harry frowned.

“The people here do not allow others to follow me. They know what happens.” He felt unsafe near this… person, the powers writhing agitatedly under his skin.

“I also know.”

Harry’s hair raised, goosebumps forming on his arms and the back of his neck. “Then why did you come? Do you think you are stronger?” His hand clenched around his  _ thikë _ , stabilising his hand.

“On the contrary; I know  _ you _ are. You have defeated me before,” the man named Voldemort said, confusing Harry. A tendril of the power lashed out, clawing out the rock next to his feet in a large swipe.

“I do not remember you.” Harry was confident in this knowledge. He had never seen the man before.

“I did not expect you to.” The man turned, took a few steps away, seemingly looking around his cave. The display of… non-agression? Harry wasn’t sure what the other was doing, but it shocked his powers into laying dormant along his skin. “May I sit? I’ve had a long journey.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Do as  _ you will _ .”

Ether perked up from behind a few layers of furs, blinking sleepily at him. “ _ Did you say something, Hari? _ ”

Harry nodded. “ _ Not to you, Ether. My apologies, I must have slipped into the serpent tongue. _ ”

Ether seemed satisfied until she tasted the air and reared back, turning her head toward the intruder. “ _ Who is this? You never have company, is he an intruder? I can smell your distress. Shall I strike him? _ ” Already, she slithered out of her warm hiding place, approaching Voldemort.

Said person laughed, a quiet sound. Then, to Harry’s surprise, he started speaking to them in return, in the same hissing tones. “ _ Well, I had no idea you could speak Parseltongue, little god. This day really is full of surprises. _ ”

“How?” Harry demanded, barging closer until his  _ thikë _ was at the man’s neck.

“ _ I should be the one asking how, _ ” Voldemort continued in the serpent tongue, leaning against the tip of the knife until it dug into his jugular. “ _ Since this gift is hereditary, yet neither your mother nor your father could speak. _ ”

Harry retracted the knife in an instant, putting it back in its holster. “You knew my parents?”

“ _ Humour me, _ ” said Voldemort, seemingly ignoring his question, “ _ speak in Parseltongue. I will answer your questions if you do. _ ”

Harry pursed his lips. “ _ Fine. _ ” He sat down quickly, petulantly, beckoning for the other to do the same. Voldemort sat down gracefully, running a hand through his hair. “ _ You said my parents could not speak the serpent tongue. How do you know them? _ ”

“ _ We both fought in a war, _ ” Voldemort said after a short silence. “ _ On opposite sides. Your mother was a formidable woman, strong, skilled, and beautiful. She opposed the ideals of my side and turned out a casualty. Her husband, your father, was less impressive; he didn't have his wand on him when he died. _ "

" _ Did you kill them? _ " Harry asked, wanting only to know.

Voldemort looked at him, gauging his reaction, before nodding.

Harry sat back, sighed. " _ And you have not come here to kill me. Then why have you come? _ "

" _ I was curious. Rightfully so, I believe. It has been many years since I truly lived, thanks to you. _ "

Harry made a face. " _ You are not being clear _ ."

Voldemort simply laughed softly, relaxed. " _ Let me have my fun, little god. _ "

Harry raised a brow. "Why do you call me that?" He was rather fed up of playing the man's little verbal game, and reverted to English.

" _ Are you not, then? _ "

Harry stood, angry. "Stop it." His power bubbled under his skin, agitated.

"Why should I?" Voldemort asked, an annoyingly smug smile on his lips.

Harry widened his eyes in his rising anger, and the sparks floating around them flickered out.

* * *

Voldemort admitted to himself he may have pushed the little god a bit too far when those eyes flared up once more in the almost-darkness of the cave.

"I know your kind,"  _ Hari _ hissed. “I have spent years avoiding you, with your talks of magic and greatness and ridiculous schools and  _ safety _ .” It was hunched into himself at the end of the sentence, and straightened out once more, pinning Voldemort with a deadly glare. “You know nothing of safety. I am safe here, where nobody knows me.  _ I  _ do not even know myself.”

Voldemort simply tilted his head, doing nothing, until the creature deflated.

"Why are you here?" it asked, picking up a piece of bread and tearing into it like an animal as it sat back down heavily, glaring at him. The sparks reappeared slowly, dimmer than before.

"Curiosity," Voldemort admitted, lacing his hands together politely. "And I was intrigued by your power and beauty, when I saw you. Which is why I followed." He didn't know what he expected, but for a flattered blush to come over its face was not one of those things. Voldemort's mouth went dry.

"I'm the last thing if beautiful,"  _ Hari _ said with a rough edge to its voice. "I am always streaked with dirt, and I rely on the kindness of people who fear me. That is not beauty."

"You are powerful, and unpredictable, even from how little I have known you. There is beauty in chaos, and as the god of it, you must be the most beautiful of all."

"Is that what they call me?" the creature wondered, a wistful smile on its face. " _ Zot i kaosit. _ I always wondered what it meant, even after my time here."

"God of chaos, yes. I think it's fitting. You have the grace of a panther but the self control of a storm." Voldemort picked up a random trinket and inspected it in the low light.

"Why, thank you," it said drily. "I do  _ love _ to be reminded of how I literally cannot control the damage I do."

"They call it an Obscurial," Voldemort said after a short silence, looking at the fluorescence of those eyes through an emerald embedded in a necklace that had rested at his feet. "It's a process where, through constant repression, a person's magic becomes active independent of the person and lashes out at strong emotions. They experimented with them in the 40's, but as far as I'm aware, there is no cure.”

_ Hari  _ sighed and raised its hands to its face, fur shifting to show a smooth, ivory leg, dotted with the finest of imperfections and then, midway its thigh, a deep, jarring scar.

"Would you like to accompany me to my manor?" Voldemort said at once.

The creature looked at him, blinking its beautiful eyes in confusion.

" _ Sa _ ?" it said again, a sound of confusion. "Why?"

Voldemort allowed himself to shrug, eyes watching the little god closely. "I have work to do, sadly, and I rather enjoy your company, little god."

"Harry," it said, lifting its chin in an almost defiant gesture. "Call me Harry."

Voldemort smiled, pleased. " _ If I do, will you accompany me? _ "

The brush of Parseltongue visibly raised the hairs on the creature- _ Harry-'s _ arms, but it nodded anyways.

" _ Fine _ ," it said through clenched teeth, averting its eyes.

Voldemort smirked, and without warning, began to cast a flurry of spells at the far wall.


	5. The House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was going to be shorter than it is, oops

It took a while to set up the runes for the portal, made easier by the fact that Voldemort had set up the spells to copy them to the other side, and key Harry into the wards. But then it was done, and Voldemort beckoned Harry through.

* * *

Harry's eyes widened at the place on the other side. They had arrived in a room that was already larger than the cave chamber he resided in both in width and height, and had multiple doors branching off it, implying even more space. Harry couldn't fathom needing more than a corner of this room alone, nevermind an entire castle.

"Why is it so large?" he asked, confused, looking at Voldemort. The man raised a hand in a 'who knows?' gesture, and Harry looked at him weirdly. It was  _ his _ manor, wasn't it?

"Feel free to look around. I’ll be in the study; if you get lost, simply snap your fingers and ask the elves to show you to me.” Then Voldemort walked away, through a door, and disappeared from view.

Harry blinked at the door he disappeared through, thoroughly confused as to why the man would immediately trust him around his house, especially after witnessing his lack of control. Nevermind that, Harry decided, shrugging to himself, and moved around the room, curious. There was very little around the space; altogether it would be even less than what he had in his cave. The portal hummed softly behind him, invitingly, but Harry had said he’d give Voldemort company in his manor.

Not that the man seeked it.

Harry approached the fireplace, which held a softly sputtering flame. Above it sat a neat little jar, the contents inside obscured, and Harry wasn’t willing to test his luck. There was a singular painting of a foggy lake above the mantel, hiding the glimmer of a castle beneath the smoky haze. Harry wondered if it was a real location. He moved on to a rather immaculate couch, flanked by a comfortable-looking chair, both clad in deep green. Now that he mentioned it, Harry noticed most of the room was dark green or dark gray, with a few silver highlights here and there. It was a rather comforting colour choice, made beautiful by the sunlight -how odd, Harry thought, he was sure it was night in his cave- streaming in through the windows.

Pressing his hands to the glass panes, unbothered by the chill creeping up his palms, he noted the spatter of trees and, in the distance, a group of houses. It wasn’t  _ his  _ village, Harry knew, because he’d have noticed the giant building just past. Besides, there was too much grass, and not enough valleys; everything was flat. Harry’s ears stung with distant pressure, like it had all those years ago in the small metal cabin. He ignored it and kept looking.

Harry fussed with the curtains, moving them back and forth, inspecting the intricate patterns in the soft, thick cloth. It was all rather fascinating; from the walls to the corners of the floor, he’d had no idea so much detail could go into just a house. Harry eventually left the curtains be, wandering to other parts. He rather liked the large, ornate lamp hanging from the ceiling, and jumped up a few times to try and reach it to no avail, with no care for the amount of noise he was producing.

Eventually he got bored and opened a random door. Beyond it was a large corridor with many doors branching off it, and Harry stepped inside, tracing the walls absently. He opened the first door he reached on the right, an inconspicuous thing, made to be left unnoticed. He walked right into a rather large kitchen, with several small things with very large ears freezing in their place, looking up at him frightfully. His eyes were large in surprise.

“ _ Alo _ ,” he greeted them, sticking up a hand lamely, expression positively flabbergasted. These were most certainly  _ not  _ humans.

A few copied the greeting, tilting their heads in curiosity.

One turned to another and whispered excitedly. Harry thought these must be the elves Voldemort had told him to contact if he got lost in the house.

“Er, if I ever want to call for you, I just click my fingers, yes?” he asked them, uncertain. He mimed the action. Most of the elves nodded, the others going back to their work. He nodded back slowly, moving back out the door and closing it. When the elves were out of sight, excited murmuring started from behind the door. Harry blinked at the darkness, and moved on to the next door, which was much more grand. He opened it and found himself in a large room filled with rows upon rows of books.

Some of the shelves gave off a positively ominous aura, and Harry wasn’t sure he was willing to try touching them, since they promised bad consequences. The others, though, Harry took freely out of the shelves and looked over, putting them back in their places; he’d always been someone who put something back exactly where he found it. A few of the books were in English, some of them he could read a bit of, but most of the others had many words that made no sense at all.

“A-rith-man-cy,” Harry tried to pronounce to the silence of the room, brow furrowing. “What even is that?” He shrugged to himself and put the book back, wandering over to another bookcase.

He pulled out a book and opened it, seeing, at once, a number of little squiggles that were completely illegible, but looked, somehow, familiar. He tried to curl his tongue to form them and was greatly surprised when he could most definitely understand what he was saying. That sounded like the snake-tongue, but slightly different, like someone had changed a few sounds. To himself, it sounded awkward and cluttered, like his tongue was too large in his mouth. After a little bit of reading out loud, he put the book back again, wandering off once more.

Harry found a large dining room, a few smaller versions of the large first room, a room surrounded by glass at the back of the house, a small dining room, an incredibly large, empty room with the most extravagant ceiling he had ever seen, and that was just on the ground floor. Upstairs there were bedrooms, bedrooms and more bedrooms. A few rooms had no beds, but instead had comfortable-looking chairs. There were a lot of cold, small rooms tiled with white stone on all sides, with mirrors above water basins, overall slightly uncomfortable.

Harry looked at himself in the mirrors, rubbing his cheeks with his hands to rid them of dirt; not that it helped much, considering his hands were dirty as well. Harry turned the metal knobs above the basin, surprised when water streamed out. He pushed his hands under and cleaned them, before lifting them to his face and ridding it of most of the dirt. Then he turned the knobs again, relieved when the water stopped, draining away in a small hole. He looked below the sink, but couldn’t see where the water had gone, except for some pipes. He let it go and looked in the mirror again, blinking at himself. His skin was a lot lighter than he’d imagined it to be, almost as white as the tiles. Harry poked at his own face and pulled a face, laughing at his reflection.

At the end of the hall there was a large bedroom, hulled in darkness, thick drapes pulled tight over the windows. It was warm in the room, almost uncomfortably so, and Harry wandered inside carefully while his eyes adjusted. He ran his hands over a few things in the room, intrigued, before he heard the telltale hiss of the snake tongue.

“ _ There is an intruder _ ,” a snake, sounding large and angry, hissed. “ _ I will bite the intruder. _ ”

“ _ Where? _ ” Harry hissed back, confused. He hadn’t noticed any intruder, unless… He realised the snake was talking about him. “ _ Oh! No, I apologise. I’m not an intruder. What’s your name? _ ”

The snake came slithering out of the shadows, hissing ominously. Then it tasted the air and stopped short.

“ _ You smell like Master. _ ”

Harry tilted his head. How could that be? He assumed Voldemort was the master it referred to, and so far he knew, the man had not laid a hand on him, nor his clothes, nor was he especially smelly.

“ _ What’s your name? _ ” He repeated instead, looking at the snake curiously. In the light, he recognised it as a female.

“ _ I am named Nagini, _ ” she hissed. “ _ And you, little mate? _ ”

“ _ Hari, _ ” Harry told her, as it was the closest he could get to his name in the snake language. “ _ What do you mean, ‘mate’? _ ”

“ _ You are not Master, but you smell like him. _ ” A small, cold tongue flicked against his bare leg, but Harry wasn’t worried; he knew the signs of an aggressive snake when he saw one, and she, Nagini, was not. “ _ Taste like him, _ ” she continued. “ _ You must be his mate. _ ”

Harry shrugged. “ _ I suppose. I’ll leave you to your rest, then. _ ”

She harrumphed as well as any snake could and slithered back into the darkness.

After a few more doors, Harry found the study. Voldemort was sitting behind a desk, looking highly amused, his eyes glued to a sheet of almost blank paper. Harry invited himself to sit down, and Voldemort made no comment on it, red eyes flicking up only once before moving back down again.


	6. The Dark (What's Lost Is Returned At Last)

This pattern continued on for days, then weeks, then months, until Harry came and went of his own accord, simply enjoying the variety of life the portal offered. Sometimes, if Harry was dressed ‘appropriately’, Voldemort allowed him into the village. Other times Harry would just go into the woods and wander around, enjoying the quiet birdsong and the rush of leaves.

On rare occasions, Harry would creep into the large bed at the end of the room, where Nagini resided. He’d sleep there, then, while Voldemort worked, to the pleasure of Nagini. Sometimes he’d sit in the parlour, or one of the more cozy sitting rooms, and Voldemort would silently join him with a book. Sometimes, very rarely, Voldemort would start up conversation and explain concepts like rituals and runes to him. The portal stayed ever up, allowing for free movement between the two locations; Harry learned he’d been situated in Albania for the better part of his life, to his surprise, and that Voldemort’s manor was situated in South London, just beyond where the fields started.

Often, he’d take long walks over the vast hills that made up the landscape, allowing Ether to come with him. She and Nagini had become acquainted, and he could swear they were plotting something. It was on one of these walks that something quite terrible happened.

Harry’s power had been building for months under his skin, agitated at not being let out, not being used. He’d felt the building pressure and resolved to take long, exhausting walks to let free some of the energy it sparked in his muscles.

It was a warm day, spring blooming into summer, and the hills were tinged a soft lilac with heather, dips and rises in the landscape curving along to the ghosts of long-lost rivers. Ether had accompanied him and had wandered off a few minutes ago in search of small critters she could torture, staying always in hearing range.

Harry was staring at the light grey sky -there was almost never blue in England, only the blanket of clouds hanging over the great blue- from under a lone tree. He was clad, again, in his comfortable furs and cotton shirt, them having been graciously tended to by the house elves a few weeks ago. A man appeared out of nowhere, clad in bright purple robes, a tad too saturated for the hills behind him. He was holding a little pocket watch in his hand, and was stroking his long, white beard with the other. Then he looked up and spotted Harry.

Harry tensed, putting his arm down to push himself up and away in case the man meant any harm. Harry couldn’t see very well, he never could, but the surprise was noticeable in the way the man held himself.

The man approached, hesitantly at first, but sped up a little as he came closer. Harry backed up against the tree, fishing for the knife on his belt.

“M’boy!” the man cried, throwing his hands out with a jovial smile. “Oh, you must come with me at once, my dear boy; it’s not safe for you here, so near Voldemort’s manor.”

Harry blinked at him and shook off the hand the man had set on his shoulders. “ _ Ether, _ ” he hissed, hearing her rustle in the distance. A fierce wind had started, shaking the fragile branches of the trees above them. “ _ I believe it’s high time we return. _ ”

He stood, furs shifting into place, amulets and jewelry slipping back into place and jangling softly against one another in the wind. He stood eye to eye with the bearded man

“What do you mean, stranger?” he demanded of the bearded man, eyes sparking dangerously.

“I have no time to explain right now, dear boy. We simply must leave; here take my hand.”

The man put out his hand in invitation; one that Harry declined. He stepped away, allowing Ether to curl round his ankle, near-invisible in the grass. His eyes narrowed, fixing on the man.

“I demand an explanation.” His eyes narrowed further, neat slits of toxic green focusing on Albus. Voldemort had once told him that his eyes reminded him of the Avada Kedavra, and then promptly demonstrated it to a wall. When Harry asked what it did, as there was nothing that had happened to the wall, Voldemort had simply smirked and told him it was his “ _ favourite spell: it kills people, simple as that. _ ” Harry hadn’t understood why they needed so many spells just to kill people, nor a spell with only that function, but hadn’t questioned it.

“There’s simply no time,” the man told him in an almost pitying tone, his eyes twinkling annoyingly. Then he proceeded to grab Harry’s hand.

It was the most awful sensation Harry had ever experienced. He was squeezed through a narrow, awful tube, and it was dark, so  _ dark _ . His ears built with pressure and his lungs emptied in one breath, before he landed, hard enough to feel it all the way up to his knees. His stomach heaved, and he stumbled, ripping his hand out of the stranger’s. Panic began to build under his skin. Ether was still there, but she felt what was about to happen, and quickly dislodged herself from his ankle, hurrying behind a nearby obstacle.

“Where am I? Where did you take me?” Harry wheezed, eyes darting around. He hunched over to vomit violently on the floor. The darkness hissed, aggravated, dancing around him. “ _ Answer me! _ ” Harry roared when the bearded man tried, again, to dance around the point.

“You’re safe here, you’re in Hogsmeade; I’ll take you to the castle, just calm down, Harry-”

“Where is Voldemort?” Harry whispered, eyes wide in his panic.

“He’s not here, you’re safe now, m’boy-”

“Take me back,” Harry commanded, rounding on the man. “Take me back  _ this instant _ .”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Harry; it’s not safe for you.” The man tried to usher him up the path, toward a large castle.

Harry scoffed, a tendril of dark smoke escaping his skin. “Safe? What do you know about  _ safety? _ ” He pointed an accusatory finger at the man. “I don’t even  _ know  _ you. I know  _ Voldemort _ ; he’s never harmed me- and you’ve  _ taken me from him _ !”

He brandished his knife, baring his teeth at the stranger.

* * *

“Harry, I must insist you come with me-” the man began, and then did the most stupid thing he could do, in Ether’s humble opinion. He approached Hari and came into the reach of his powers, and tried again to touch Hari.

Ether gasped, covering her eyes with her clear eyelids as Harry screamed in rage and terror and  _ exploded _ , taking the other man with him.

“ _ No _ !” She screeched as loud as she could, trying to come out of her hiding place, but there was rubble flying at her, and she’d be no use to her hatchling crushed. The sky turned dark above them, and the houses collapsed in the resulting shockwave. Ether was thrown backwards, saved from a nasty head injury by the hard scales that lined the raised parts of her head. As soon as things stopped falling, she slithered out, into daylight, eyes covered against the ash. There was smoke in her lungs and ash on her tongue as she darted around, trying desperately to find her Hari, her  _ hatchling _ .

“ _ No, no, you have to be alive, Hari, answer me! _ ” she hissed desperately, but as the smoke cleared and her sight expanded, her heart fell. Hari was nowhere to be seen. A large crater was left in the middle of the village, all the houses destroyed, windows shattered and wooden beams collapsed. At the edge of the crater was a corpse, burned and torn apart. In the middle, there was a puddle of molten gold. Ether felt an emotion she rarely felt before.

Her heart nearly stopped in dread.

* * *

Harry awoke with his nerves on fire, eyes staring painfully into familiar, lovely, blood-red ones.

His eyes promptly filled with tears and he curled into Voldemort’s tight embrace, uncaring for his torn, burnt skin, sobs wracking his body.

“You’re alive,” he heard Voldemort whisper in his ear, voice thick with emotion, unlike it had ever been. “Thank the gods, you’re  _ alive _ .”

Harry clutched at his robes, sobbing harder. “ _ I was so scared, _ ” he told Voldemort in the snake language.

“When Ether came to me… She was hysterical, she couldn’t find you. She said you exploded.” Voldemort gripped Harry tighter.

Harry kept crying into the man’s shoulder.

“I searched for you everywhere… I thought you’d died. But you didn’t. You’re a miracle, Harry.” Voldemort laughed wetly and placed his forehead against Harry’s, reveling in the feeling of him in a way he’d never done before.

“ _ My little god. _ ”

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, what a wild ride. Thank you for following this story, it was a wonder to create. And to think; my first ever completed, multi-chaptered fic! I hope you liked what you found, and I'll see you on the other side.


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